


On The Side Of The Angels

by FrenchKey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU Post Reichenbach, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, BAMF!John, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical War Wound, Gen, Minor Pre-Series, Violent Injury, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchKey/pseuds/FrenchKey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty made a huge mistake when he dismissed John Watson and hurt the people close to him. John has abilities and resources unknown to both the geniuses and he is prepared to use them in the wake of Sherlock's suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from but it demanded to be written. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning 'My Brother's Keeper', I'm just working on this as well. 
> 
> I relied a lot on Ariane DeVere's transcript of the episode on Livejournal so many thanks for that!
> 
> Enjoy!

Pale London light filtered through the curtains as John dragged himself up the stairs and through the door of 221B Baker Street. He stumbled across the room and dropped into his armchair. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the chrome and leather filling his vision. He blinked once and then again and then finally allowed his eyes to slide shut. It didn’t help.

 

_Sherlock bent over a microscope, hand out, waiting._

_Sherlock flopping dramatically onto the couch, dressing gown whirling around him._

_Sherlock folded into his armchair, balancing a cup of tea._

_Sherlock standing on the rooftop, trembling._

John wrenched his eyes back open. The chair swam before his eyes, colours blending and twisting together, forming odd smeared patterns on his retinas. It looked almost like an angel with all the black coalescing and outlined in silver. It was a very morbid angel.

 

_“I’m a fake.”_

_“It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.”_

_“Nobody could be that clever.”_

_“Goodbye, John.”_

_“Goodbye.”_

The words were stuck on an endless repeat in his head. Over and over, Sherlock’s last seconds unwinding. _“Nobody could be that clever.”_ John let out a deep sigh. The angel shaped chair was mocking him. He sat there for several more minutes before he finally moved towards the kitchen. Water. Boil the kettle. Teabags. Mugs. Mugs that don’t have mould cultures in the bottom. He had to bite off a huff of laughter before it became a sob at the sight. Milk. No milk. It would hardly be the first time he’d made do with black tea.

 

Kettles never appreciated being watched and the one in 221B had never been an exception. John took the time to stare out into the alleyway behind the flat, words once again unspooling through his brain. _“Fake”. “Trick.” “Goodbye.”_ He growled aloud and slammed a palm against the worktop. The kettle boiled. He added the water to the mug and cradled it as he spun around to view the interior of the flat. Their flat. His gaze was drawn directly back to the armchair.

 

A black and silver angel. _“Just a magic trick.” “Nobody could be that clever.”_ For the first time the memory of Sherlock’s voice is interrupted by the memory of his own. _“You could.”_ The black and silver angel. Everything whirled and twisted and dropped into place. In the silence of the flat, a mug smashed.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to write which is why it took so long. The members of John's unit would not cooperate with me trying to get to know them at all. Anyway, it's done now!

_ 11th October 2010 – Helmand Province _

 

It should have been a routine extraction. Three prisoners, a bolt hole in the mountains and minimal guards. They should have been in and out inside of an hour. Instead it had taken ten minutes to get in, six minutes to find and rescue the prisoners and four hours and a dead body to get back out again.

 

The dead body was the least of John’s worries at the moment. There was nothing he could do for the poor man now. He was far more worried about the man who was slowly bleeding out under his hands and the rest of the unit that was pinned under heavy fire from insurgents. The man groaned and tried to roll away. John pressed down harder.

 

“You don’t want to do that, Reynolds. Just lie still. I’ve got you.”

 

Corporal Reynolds groaned again but ceased moving. John focussed half his attention on stemming the flow of blood and the other half on assessing the situation. It was a miracle that they had only sustained one fatality so far .At that, John noticed a red shape rapidly forming behind one of his comrades.

 

“Murray! DROP!”

 

His bellow cut through the noise and confusion to Bill Murray, the unit’s nurse. He promptly dropped to the ground just as a bullet sailed through the place his head had been. John was relieved to see the red shape dissipating almost instantly. Murray jogged over.

 

“Thanks, Captain.”

 

John nodded his acknowledgement, still keeping one eye on the six soldiers surrounding them. They were still cut off from their jeeps by only five hundred metres. Five hundred very exposed metres. There was no way they could make a sprint for safety without sustaining casualties. Something had to be done.

 

“We’re stuffed, sir.”

 

Murray’s thoughts echoed John’s own. He made a decision.

 

“Take over for me here, Lieutenant. Keep pressure on the wound. It’s non-fatal as long as we get him back to base soon.”

 

Murray did as he was ordered but stopped John before he moved away.

 

“Sir… John… what are you planning?”

 

“I’m doing something about this before we all end up being shipped home in body bags. You concentrate on keeping Reynolds alive.”

 

John waited until Murray had nodded in agreement. He sprinted to the other Lieutenant in the party and promptly dragged her down by the collar as he spotted flashes of red over their shoulders. A spray of bullets flew over their heads. Lieutenant Smith of them let loose a barrage of curse words. John raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“Sorry, Captain.”

 

“Don’t worry about it Lieutenant. How’re we doing for ammo?”

 

“We’re not going to be able to hold out much longer, sir.”

 

“Right,” he straightened, “I’m going to need you to provide covering fire. Can you do that?”

 

“Sir!”

 

“Can you do that?”

 

The Lieutenant looked at John. She nodded, eyebrows drawn together.

 

“Right then. Fire on my signal.”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

John took a deep breath and moved to the edge of the knoll they were holed up behind. He slipped his service weapon into his right hand and held his left out to the side. He took another deep breath before he flashed the signal to Lieutenant Smith and took off for the jeep.

 

His world narrowed and his heartbeat thrummed in his ears. The chatter of gunfire in the background barely registered. He was conscious only of the gun in his hand, the jeep in his peripheral vision and the blessedly empty space to his right. At the first sign of red he threw himself forward into a roll, narrowly avoiding the bullet that would have blown his brains out. He sprang back to his feet and kept going. Just a few more feet. He threw himself behind the cover of the vehicle as the red splodge re-appeared over his shoulder, even more defined this time. He felt a bullet clip the heel of his boot as he dived and looked down to see a chunk missing from the heel.  He rested a moment then climbed behind the wheel and headed back to rescue his unit.

 

They ushered the unharmed Corporals in while Lieutenant Smith and Second Lieutenants Ford and Howard provided bursts of covering fire. John and Murray worked together to pass Reynolds, who was now sporting a pressure bandage, to the other Corporals. The others scrambled into the jeep but John turned back to collect the body of Major Nicholls. He had almost made it to safety when he glimpsed a solid red outline to his right. He dropped to the ground and the world exploded into pain.

 

“JOHN!”

Murray. That was Murray screaming his name. He tried to reply but all that came out was a groan. His shoulder was on fire. That was the only explanation. He closed his eyes against the sensations and tried not to be sick. The light behind his eyelids pulsed red. Red. Why was it always red? He dragged his eyes open and squinted. There was nothing there. Nothing was leaning over him, waiting to collect him. He was safe. Consciousness evaded him.

 

 

_12 th October 2010 – Field Hospital_

 

Everything felt fuzzy. John opened his eyes and then closed them again. The brief glimpse of light had woken a pounding headache which was soon eclipsed by the agony of his shoulder. His stomach lurched and threatened to rebel. He dragged a deep breath in through his nose and huffed it out again. His memories began to sort themselves out. An extraction gone wrong. Pinned in place by enemy fire. A mad dash across the desert. His troops, safe in the jeep. A body, Major Nicholls. John hadn’t much liked the man but he was sorry for his loss. The memories continued to coalesce. He’d seen the red shape and dived too late. His shoulder. That explained the pain.

 

John allowed the noise of the machines and monitors to soothe him. His thoughts kept drifting back to Major Nicholls. He had taken a bullet to the heart and bled out before John reached his side. John had shouted a soon as the swirling red had started forming to the man’s left but he hadn’t ducked. It had cost him his life. The red had taken shape, wings outstretched, leaning over Nicholls. John had known then that he was too late.

 

Nicholls had never listened. That was his problem, John decided. He had always needed to know best. John knew he hadn’t been the only one to express doubt about the extraction plan. Lieutenant Smith and Second Lieutenant Howard had both told John and, as far as John knew, the Major that the intelligence didn’t look right. All three of them had wanted to wait and do some scouting of their own before attempting the mission but the Major had vetoed that plan and barrelled ahead. Now he was dead.

 

John opened his eyes. The light had not become any more bearable in the last minute or two. It sent pain spiking through his skull but he managed to keep his eyes open and they started to adjust. As soon as he could move his head without feeling like it would fall off he squinted down at his shoulder. It was swaddled in white bandaging and mostly covered by the blanket. His arm was still attached at least. He slowly rolled his head back towards the centre and then carried on to the right. There was no red in sight. He squinted against the glare from the lights. There was definitely no red but he could almost sure he could see something. It looked vaguely purple. With an outline of yellow. He groaned.

 

“NURSE!”

 

At his yell, Murray sprinted into the ward and snapped to attention by his bed.

 

“Sir!”

 

“At ease, Murray. I’m hardly on duty here.”

 

“Sorry, sir. Habit.”

 

“I know. Anyway, sit down and catch me up.”

 

Murray dragged an old metal folding chair over beside the bad and sat on it. He leaned forward, forearms on his knees and looked at John. John looked back.

 

“It’s not good, sir.”

 

“Murray!”

 

“Sorry. It’s not good, John. The brass isn’t happy. Of course, they’re blaming Nicholls which is fair but they’re not happy that you’ve been injured.”

 

John winced. He’d been afraid of that when he’d taken the risk. All the same, he’d rather take a dishonourable discharge than any more bodies any day. Murray caught his grimace.

 

“They’re not annoyed with you. There’s talk of a commendation, maybe a medal or two. You saved the lot of us, John and the higher ups recognise that. They’re more worried about how long you’ll be out of commission.”

 

John’s eyebrows rose.

 

“I don’t need a medal, Murray. I was just trying to keep us all alive out there.”

 

“I know that. You managed just as well as always.”

 

Murray silenced the objection before it could be voiced.

 

“The Major was an idiot. I know it doesn’t do to speak ill of the dead but we all heard you shout. He’s the only one that didn’t listen and he’s the only one that didn’t make it. We can do the maths. It was not your fault.”

 

John froze. He knew it hadn’t been his fault, the Major _hadn’t_ ducked after all, but what did Murray mean ‘they could do the maths’? Murray raised his eyebrows.

 

“Calm down, John. We don’t know anything and even if we did we don’t really care. You’re our Captain and we trust you with our lives. You seem to be a bit more qualified than most at helping us keep them but that’s just an added bonus. No one is going to say anything. No one has anything to say.”

 

John sighed and let the tension flow out of his limbs. Murray was grinning at him from beside the bed. John grinned back but sobered quickly. The splodge beside the bed had grown more defined during the conversation.

 

“Murray, I’m going to need antibiotics as soon as possible. Can you do that for me?”

 

Murray winced.

 

“I shouldn’t. There’s no sign of infection but you’ve always been best at spotting the danger signs. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

 

“Thanks, Murray.”

 

 

  _5 th November 2010 – Military Hospital, England_

__

John glared at the paperwork on his lap. It did not oblige him by bursting into flames. The discharge orders had been dropped off by a nurse sometime in the last half hour. He had been unable to bring himself to pick them up and read through them, partly because he knew exactly what they would say and partly because he refused to believe that they were real.

 

Over the last month his shoulder had healed reasonably well. It was still agony when he moved it carelessly but the wound had closed up properly, even if it had left an impressive scar behind. It was the rest of him that was a problem. His hand trembled most of the time and his right leg refused to take the weight. He knew that there was enough nerve damage to cause the tremor in his hand but there was no discernible cause for the pain in his leg. It was infuriating.

 

The base hospital had done their best for him, nursing him through the infection that had nearly claimed his life and caring for his shoulder to the best of their ability but it hadn’t been enough. The papers on his lap mocked him. Unfit for duty. Honourable Discharge. Full Pension. None of it would do him any good in reality.  He should probably get on with filling the paperwork in since it was inevitable anyway.

 

\-----

 

Three hours later John was on his way to London with a duffle bag at his feet and an illegal gun tucked under his coat. There was nothing hovering by his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. There will be a lot more coming where some questions might be answered and there will be some more action. Feel free to leave a comment below! Thank you for reading.


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